


A Footnote In History

by Empress_of_Trash



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Education, Epistolary, F/F, M/M, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, No idea where this is going, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empress_of_Trash/pseuds/Empress_of_Trash
Summary: In the Denerim City Museum is a collection of notebooks spanning several years. It is kept closed in a special room of the "Women of the Dragon Age" Exhibit. Sitting beside the first books is a small portrait of a curly haired young woman with glasses and a smile. Under the glass display is a placard reading "The Wanderer's Accounts of the Inquisition and Years Following by Lady Jacqueline Dawes, From 9:41 - 9:51 Dragon".





	1. 3 Weeks, 2 Days

( _ Heavily blotted lines of almost text. The letters blend together making the first few pages unable to be read. There are many spots of ink that pass through to other pages. After two pages the lines start to form something readable. _ )

 

Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow.

Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow.

Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow.

Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow.

 

( _ The same line is repeated over and over again until the writing begins to smooth out with only occasional blotching on sharper turns and periods. A few pages in actual text begins. _ )

 

Unknown Date

 

It actually took awhile for me to realize what was going on. Passing into a different world had  _ hurt _ . Not just physically, but somewhere deep inside. It had messed me up severely and by the time I was awake long enough and often enough to note what was happening around me I had been in the medic tent for three weeks.

 

I was a bit of a mystery to the sisters.

 

I was soft and round. I had clear skin and all my lovely white teeth. Even glasses. All this when combined with my soft hands spoke of noble or at least higher class and sheltered. The only problem was they couldn’t figure out what I was doing so far out in the Crossroads.

 

I was thankfully not expected to talk. I couldn’t. Three minutes into my “arrival” a rage demon had gotten me by the throat for a second-- _ one second _ \--and scorched it. Only the presence of one of the surviving mages and a potion stopped my entire throat from collapsing on itself.

 

It was not a fun way to be introduced to Thedas for sure.

 

My asking for a book hadn’t helped my “mystery”. Being literate was another point towards nobility. Though I had been given some judgemental looks as I learned to use a quill, a pencil would have been easier. God, I missed pens already. 

 

The Mother comes to check on me sometimes. Thankfully it isn’t special attention. She does this with all patients. It had been her that had realized what my flapping hand gesture indicated and who had found me a notebook amongst all the chaos. I haven’t seen her in a few days. I can hear the sisters gossiping about moving to Haven soon.

 

One of the sisters is smiling at me. 

 

This is probably the most active I’ve been honestly. It’s still a bit hard to walk without being exhausted. This particular girl, I forgot her name and she hasn’t repeated it since they seem to be treating me like I can’t understand them as I can’t speak, has seemed to have adopted my as something of a pet. She found me crying in frustration trying to braid my hair with my wrapped burnt hands and took the brush. Now she makes sure to check up on me and help out.

 

I’ve been set up in one of the houses with a few other “upper crust”. Mostly what appears to be merchants. They seem to have assumed I am the most high ranking. It makes me feel a bit shit to be holed up here mostly alone. The guards, the Inquisition has joined us as of two days ago, have started to move them out back to the roads at their insistence. With things a bit safer they are moving out, but I am still on bed rest until they identify me and I can move without losing my breath.

 

The battle for the Crossroads had been fought during a particularly horrible fever spell making the screams and death moans blend in with my nightmares.

 

( _ There are a few attempts at lines that are shaky and crossed through _ .)

 

~~ I heard someone die- ~~

 

~~ The smell, dear god- ~~

 

~~ I threw up- ~~

 

~~ I keep dreaming of monsters- ~~

 

Everyone calls me “Milady”.

 

At this point, it’s almost a nickname.

 

The Renfaire dress. That lovely extravagant thing my Mom and Gram had helped my made was mostly destroyed. I blame it for the whole affair. They managed to piecemeal another dress for me. I am trying not to think of where exactly they found it. 

 

The mage, a too tall gangly pimple marked  _ child _ , clearly isn’t a trained healer came to check on me earlier. I like the kid, though he seems nervous and looks at me like I’ll bite. He actually talks to me like I can understand him. The smiling sister does as well, but it's with the tone of someone addressing a small child or an animal.

 

The kid though has a nervous habit of talking while he’s working. He’s told me about his first kiss, setting his mentor on fire, and several properties of elfroot in one five minute visit alone.

 

He’d said with a tremulous smile that we could take the bandages off tomorrow and I could start trying to speak. Then he applied the elfroot salve, which has spread with a cool tingly sensation similar to aloe.

 

Elfroot though does not smell like aloe. Or like mint or any  _ clean _ plant smell like my headcanon.

 

It smells like pot.

 

That old joke about the Inquisitor being a stoner had made me laugh, to everyone’s confusion, the first time I’d been awake to have it applied. The pain that caused my throat had led to instant regrets, but now it made me smile.

 

Smiler is reading over my shoulder now. Well, not reading. She’s not following the lines but looking over the paper confused. I’ve seen Thedas’s writing system and it sure isn’t the Latin alphabet. 

 

( _ A few sloppily swirls are done on the page and a strange smiley as well. A few better looking inked images cover the next pages. _ )

 

She petted my hair, apparently deciding it was scribbles.

 

I have no idea what to do.

 

Maybe when I can walk again they’ll let me help out. Sitting here feels both useless and id unhelpful to distract me from the ever-encroaching horror of this situation.


	2. 3 Weeks, 3 Days

Unknown Date, Spring Probably

 

Without my bandages, freshly removed by my gangly mage friend under the careful supervision of the Smiler, and with a clean bill of health I have been allowed to leave my bed. I haven't looked at the damage done by my near death experience. The face of my “roommates” had told me enough.

 

The younger one, with light red hair, a pink round face, and haughty expression had actually given a loud gasp of horror, covering her mouth when I ventured out from my curtained section. The older man with her, a relative from the identical nose had quickly scolded her and ushered her away with a deep bow and apology.

 

The reaction had almost been enough to send me scurrying back behind my curtain. But if I could survive being dragged through this fresh hell I could survive stares. I let the curtain fall and settled in the common area inside the little house.

 

The merchants had quickly used sheets to give the group gathered here a modicum of privacy and it is only now I am leaving mine. Most of the others cleared out this morning for promises of safer transport from Haven. It left the place empty except myself, the girl and her relative, a quiet older man with silver chains and a mean look, and the older couple.

 

That couple were the ones I joined by the small table. The turned out to be pretty decent company. 

 

They were both in their early forties, late thirties. The woman, Marisol, was bronze skinned with friendly brown eyes and lovely curling black hair she kept pinned up with a collection of jewel tipped hair pins that looked like tiny stars in the night sky. Her husband, Enrique was slightly darker with a friendly smile and a shaved head. He was as large as his wife was small, barely over my own 5’1”. He stood and gently helped me sit when he saw how wobbly I was on my feet just crossing the room. They also both had tattoos. Enrique a smattering of swirls and geometric shapes peeking out from his shirt and Marisol with a beautiful array of feathers on the back of her neck almost hidden by her curls.

 

They were from Rivain, Marisol told me the couple happy to fill the silence with chatter both at me and between themselves, seemingly unbothered by my silence. They were staying until word reached them from a cousin in Redcliffe who they were visiting to celebrate her child’s birth. They had been married over twenty years now since Marisol was sixteen and Enrique twenty. They were spice merchants, but had started as a tailor’s apprentices competing for a position neither had ended up with.

 

The competition, I was informed with a hot look shared between the couple, had sparked their romance and their desire to succeed.

 

They were also pleased to see I was well, Enrique had been sure to tell me. Smiler had apparently emphasized the importance of giving me alone time to heal or they would have spoken to me sooner.

 

Listening to them was relieving. Even with me being an introvert and them being strangers it helped soothe some of the loneliness and starvation for company I'd had.

 

It was also informative.

 

Our other occupants were Ser Wolfram and Lady Bethia. Not nobility despite being granted a knighthood, Wolfram had established himself during the Orlesian Occupation, survived fighting in the Fifth Blight, and been granted some of the land left empty of ownership by the disaster. He'd apparently managed to create a profitable enough business to marry his niece to a higher up Orlesian gentry and had been travelling there when they got caught up in this disaster. Bethia was his beloved, read spoiled, niece.

 

Marisol kept her expression polite when she talked about them, but there was a distinct lack of animation that implied a whole lot of disapproval towards one or both.

 

It was also early spring, winter just leaving, though I couldn't get the exact date. Marisol mentioned hoping to be in Redcliffe in time before Bloomingtide, which I thought was the fourth or fifth month.

 

The Inquisitor had also reached Dennet, because Enrique mentioned them getting ready to send horses this way. Of course the Inquisitor was just called, “the Herald” which didn't give me much information besides the pronoun telling me she was a woman. Apparently a completionist judging by Marisol sharing the latest gossip, with a slightly awed tone, of how “the Herald” was “single handedly” stopping the fighting and “bringing justice” across the Hinterlands. 

 

The additions of blankets we'd received right as I'd woken were from the apostate staches I'd guess.

 

That would draw out the events a bit depending on how much she'd accomplished already. Three weeks since the explosion, subtracting unconsciousness meant close to two weeks in Hinterlands.

 

A bit less with travel times though.

 

How long would it take her to head to Val Royeaux? To recruit help for the Breach? Templars or Mages? I was usually good with math and timeline events, but my head still seems a little fuzzy at times. My memory a little off.

 

Writing is helping. Recording my day and what I've learned makes it easier to focus and put things together. Makes my words return.

 

I spent most of the rest of the day with the Flores, their surname. They seemed to have decided they like me well enough, hovering on both sides when I decided to come with them to retrieve lunch rather than wait in the cabin. Smiler quickly came down on us when she saw that though. 

 

I was still in a “delicate state” and “too much excitement” was “ill advised”. She just kept smiling and not-scolding until Marisol, who had seemed constantly good-natured, frowned eyes going flinty. I would have been more offended on mine and my new friends part if I hadn't actually been exhausted by the walk, annoying enough. Enrique pointing this out broke the tension and our little group headed back to eat.

 

Smiler fussed and pushed me into bed for more rest, pointedly closing the curtain behind her. After she left, it took an hour, I slipped back out to sit and finish the food with company before actual exhaustion sent me reluctantly back.

 

Marisol though helpful assisted in pinning back the curtain so there was more light and we could still talk. Or well I could be talked at. 

 

With the return of Wolfram and Bethia though I have since lowered it and decided to work on this.

 

I need to start planning out how I was gonna get through this. Smiler will be bring the teenage mage tomorrow for a check up. Maybe he can push me in the right direction recovery wise. I need to be able to walk and run. The world’s too dangerous to not at least be able to flee.


End file.
